


Touch Starved

by HeartOfTheMirror



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fantasizing, Femdom, First Time, Light BDSM, Loneliness, Memories, Nipple Play, Sexual Fantasy, Soft Frank Castle, Sub Frank Castle, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, What-If, like barely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 08:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfTheMirror/pseuds/HeartOfTheMirror
Summary: Frank doesn't miss sex until he does.





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Superhero Resin for all of her amazing support and encouragement with this fic!!!

Frank isn’t the kind of guy who jacks off a lot. It’s the real thing or nothing, far as he’s concerned. Of course, that didn’t mean he  _ never _ polished the German helmet but mostly that was in the days leading up to his return from deployment when he was excited to see Maria and his body was relearning how to be Frank the Man instead of Frank the Marine.

So when he got that itch under his skin as he paced through the minimalist loft he’d rented as Pete Castiglione, he almost dismissed it out of hand. But there was nothing for him to do. No war to fight, no work waiting for his hands to tear themselves up doing, nothing on the tv that didn’t make him want to punch a wall, no one he really wanted to wake up at three in the morning just because he couldn’t sleep. So, ‘ _ What the hell _ ?’ he thought, chugging the last of his warm beer and throwing himself down on the couch.

He unzipped himself and took his soft Jonhson in hand. He’d never thought of jerking off as particularly sexy, which was maybe one of the reasons he could live without it. It was just a pale shadow of foreplay and one that left him more lonely than satisfied when it was over. Sighing, knowing he was probably wasting his time for a weak, shitty orgasm that would only make him feel worse, Frank started moving his hand. He wasn’t gentle with himself. Why would he be?

Closing his eyes as his blood began to stir, Frank let his head tip back, his free hand rubbing over his chest through his soft henley. He felt a little jolt each time his fingers brushed over his nipples but men didn’t like that shit so he ignored it. Maria, she’d loved to tease him about that. Never with words because she knew him too well, but with her body. She’d bite at his nipples when he was fucking her, tweak them with her fingers when they were getting undressed, rub the washcloth over them for a few extra seconds when they bathed each other. And when she did it, it was okay somehow, almost like it was more her kink than his, even though he knew that was bullshit. But she’d been the master of Frank Castle’s body, no question.

Those thoughts worked their magic. He could feel himself begin to fill out in his hand, even as the sweet ache of thinking of Maria made him feel like he’d been sucker punched. Licking his lips, Frank cast about in his head for something else, some other memory to lose himself in, if only for a couple minutes. 

What came to him was: lemony-blonde hair, backlit like she was a fucking angel, making her whole face glow. Eyes, clear and caring, and so blue Frank didn’t think they could belong to a real person. Her long, straight nose, red lips curled up into a little grin just for the two of them, and the soft curve of her face.

“Shit,” Frank swore, dropping his dick like it bit him. Jerking off thinking about his dead wife was bad enough, but Karen? He had no right. It was goddamn disrespectful. He wasn’t a fucking animal. 

He didn’t like porn, so that wasn’t an option. Didn’t like the randomness of it, watching strangers grunting and writhing like that was supposed to turn him on. And then there was the way that nobody seemed to know how to treat a goddamn lady anymore, especially one who was willing to take her clothes for ‘em. If made him sick, it made him angry. But pretty much everything did these days.

He tucked himself back in his pants, ignoring the throb and ache where he was hard enough to pound nails now. He pulled another warm beer off the six-pack he’d never bothered to toss in the fridge and ran his fingers through the hair he was growing out again. He was a fucking mess. He knew it. 

It was three more beers and two fingers of the bottle of bourbon he’d stashed under the couch before he let one of his hands wander down to his crotch, rubbing his half-chub through his jeans. Fuck if there wasn’t something in the air tonight. He hadn’t felt this way since, shit he couldn’t even remember the last time when. Before Frank Jr. maybe, when he and Maria were still in the honeymoon phase, fucking like rabbits every chance they got. Afterwards, they’d settled down into a comfortable routine and he hadn’t missed it, the ravenous lust, the constant sex. It’d been fun, sure, but ultimately just a distraction from what had really mattered.

He was distracted now.

Swearing again, Frank gave in, setting down his glass and unzipping his jeans, shimmying them down his thighs and then kicking them off. He ran his thumb around the crown of his dick, drawing a deep breath and trying to keep his head clear. But he could still remember the warmth of her, pressed against him when she’d reeled him in for that hug. And he wouldn’t defile that moment by thinking about it now, he refused. He  _ refused _ . 

But there was that moment by the river, the lights of the bridge in the distance almost romantic, when he’d dared to lean in and press his lips against her cheek, just for a second. What if she hadn’t stood there like a deer in the headlights, tense and not looking at him? What if she hadn’t still be upset about his stupid neanderthal yelling, his heartbreaking stories, his propensity for fucking killing half the people he met on any given day? What if she’d smiled, turned her head, brushed her nose against his, and taken his hand?

“You should sleep somewhere warm tonight, Frank,” She might have said, subtle as inviting him up for coffee after a date. Or maybe she wouldn’t have said anything. Maybe she just would have held onto his hand and lead him back to her place, knowing he was hers to lead.

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking of her like this. But he wasn’t disrespecting her, he just wanted… and she’d never know. It felt so good in a way that almost nothing felt good anymore. And maybe she wouldn’t mind as long as he kept his eyes to himself when she was really there and didn’t go around thinking he had any kind of right to her. Maybe it would be okay if he just let himself…

So they would be in her place, and she’d walk in first, back to him all casual-like, just how she’d been before. She’d step out of her heels and maybe she’d be wearing stockings, which Frank always secretly kind of liked. She’d turn back to him and smile, and he’d step forward, toeing off his boots on her mat because he knew he’d be staying this time. She’d hold out her arms to him and he could just step right into them and let her hold him, feel her long, elegant fingers dig into his hair, slide up under his shirt and caress the dip of his spine.

“Do you want to?” She’d whisper in his ear.

“Yeah,” he’d growl out, his voice half-wrecked for her already.

“Okay,” she’d say just as softly. But they would just stand there for a few more seconds, soaking each other in, not in any rush now that the decision had been made. She’d step back when she was ready, her hands running down his arms, her fingers twining with his as she walked backward, leading him to her bedroom. She’d take him by the shoulders and sit him down on the bed.

“You can touch,” she’d say with one of those teasing little smiles. Maybe she’d pull at his ear or brush her thumb across his cheek. And he’d put his hands on her hips. She’d be in one of those high-waisted pencil skirts that looked so good on her and a silky button-down blouse maybe. Yeah, he’d feel his way up from her hips to her little waist, that silky material so cool and delicate under his fingers. “That’s it,” she’d say, guiding his hands so they could cup her breasts. It still didn’t make sense that he could have her, but he wasn’t a stupid man. He knew how to shut his mouth and not question a good thing. 

He’d look up at her, hold her eyes with his own while he pulled her button up out of her skirt and slowly started working it open. It would hang off her shoulders, caressing her skin the way he longed to do. She’d let it slip off her arms and fall to the ground, an expensive top forgotten because she had him in her bed. She’d be wearing lace underneath, something thin so the lines wouldn’t show beneath the silk. He could lean in, kiss her bellybutton to make her giggle, and then kiss his way up to her nipple, put his mouth right over it through the fabric and give it a good long suck. He’d use his tongue, get her good and wet, feel her nipple pebble into a stiff peak as she moaned for him. And then he could move on to the other side, give both of her beautiful breasts the attention they deserved while his fingers danced up her arms to the straps on her shoulders, sliding them gently off. By the time he reached around to unhook her bra it would be ready to just fall to the ground, freeing her gorgeous breasts, creamy pale with sweet pink nipples standing to attention for him, because he’s made her feel good.

“You too,” she’d say breathlessly, kneeling on the bed to straddle him. He’d hold her hips to steady her until she started tugging impatiently at his henley and then he’d lift his arms and let her rip it off him and toss it aside.

“Hey,” she’d say, smiling softly and throwing her arms around his neck. 

“Karen,” he’d breathe, his eyes flicking to her lips but determined not to ask for anything. To let her run the show.

But she saw that he wanted and she was generous so she gave and gave and gave, kissing him soft and tender. They eased into kissing each other, testing the waters and finding their rhythm. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, pressing their chests together skin to skin.

She’d push down on him and he’d go, falling back against the mattress, glad to have her weight on top of him as his legs dangled off the side of the bed. She’d grin in that way that meant that she was up to no good, and then she’d lean down, leaving nipping little kisses along Frank’s throat while he threw his head back. She’d suck at his collarbone, worry with her teeth until he had a different kind of bruise, one he hadn’t had in years.

Her thumbs would brush across his chest then, and he’d arch up into her and roll them over. She’d push herself further up the bed and he’d crawl after her while she frantically worked open her pencil skirt enough to shimmy it down her long, long legs. She’d be wearing more lace underneath, a matching set with garters. Dark blue maybe, because that always looked so pretty against her skin.

He’d kiss the inside of her knee, let his fingers slip up her ankle, cradle her smooth calf through the sheer delicate fabric of her thigh highs.

“Sometime today Frank,” she’d tease, nudging her toes against his jeans. Frank liked to go slow but he didn’t think Karen would, not that first time. Most people, they saw a pretty, put together ladylike Karen and assumed she’d be some kind of a pushover. Some damsel just waiting around for a man. But that wasn’t her at all. She knew exactly what she wanted and she went after it fiercely, tenaciously. It was one of the things that drew him to her so strongly.

“Take these off, oh my god, I can’t believe you’re still wearing pants,” she’d complain teasingly, sitting up to tear at the button of his jeans.

“Sure, help yourself,” Frank would mutter because he was a sarcastic asshole. But she knew that about him already and she’d just shoot him one of her sardonic little smiles from under her long pale eyelashes and tug down the zipper, helping him shimmy out of his jeans and finally kick them away with his boxer briefs.

Her eyebrows would raise as she looked at him, hard and waiting for her next call, totally at her mercy. “God,” she’d breathe, tracing her soft fingertips over his chest, the defined cut of his abs, letting them curl around the base of his cock, their touch maddeningly light. “This is gonna be so much fun. She’d rise up on her knees to kiss him then and he’d topple them both over onto her soft bed sheets, feeling her giggle against his lips.

“Frank,” she’d murmur, as he kissed his way down her neck, over her collarbone with a little scrape of teeth, and then down over the soft mounds of her breasts, the flat plane of her little tummy, the dip of her belly button. “Frank!” she’d cry as she squirmed, pushing at his head a little, but not like she actually wanted him to move. He’d give her one of his shit-eating grins and then unclasp her garters without even looking. One big hand under her bum would life her up enough for him to unhook her garter belt and curl his fingers under her panties, dragging them down so she was just in her thigh highs. Those, he thought, could stay on.

He could just picture her, laid out for him like that, grinning a little as her golden hair spilled over her shoulders in soft waves and curls that caught the light so beautifully. She’d be up on her elbows, her knees bent and parted to welcome him between them, totally relaxed being bared in front of him, the air thick with anticipation and need.

He wanted suddenly, fiercely, to be inside her, thrusting into the tight wet heat of her, listening to her panting little “ah,”s in his ear as she clung to him, scratching his back and gripping his ass harder with each thrust. He’d fuck her like the world was ending because wasn’t it always? He’d give her whatever she wanted, he’d give her anything, everything-

He came all over his chest suddenly, unexpectedly, his whole body bowing off the couch as his mouth fell open with the intensity of his release.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not the fic I planned on posting this Christmas but eh....
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and kudos are always very welcome <3


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